Mumbles
by IsomorphicTARDIS
Summary: A series of stories, ranging from liked headcanons to requests to random ideas that strike me at random intervals in a day. Will showcase various fandoms, and will give each story an opportunity to be revised and put into a separate story, if prompted. #2: Time Energy - Doctor Who, Headcanon, Revised
1. Sherlock 1: Meet The Holmes

**This is a test, to see if my revising is getting somewhat better. Maybe. Hopefully.**

**Warnings: **Established Sheriarty, mostly fluff, baking contest with Sherlock's parents, and I'm warning you now, if you like it, I will post more. I've got it written. (And I'm telling the truth this time, pinky promise. Girl scouts honor. Cross my hearts, hope to die.)

Sherlock's parents are Wanda and Timothy. The names are the names of Benedict Cumberbatch's parents, because that's who played Sherlock's parents. Aren't I creative?

And yes, everything Moriarty says is in italics. It's pertinent to the plot line of the story, but I'm not publishing the entire thing, so just go with it.

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><p>Moriarty pulls him up out of his seat by his elbow and drags him over to the kitchen, theatrically swinging open the fridge door and peering inside, taking out various ingredients as he instructs Sherlock to retrieve two bowls from somewhere.<p>

Sherlock gets the two large mixing bowls, and sets them gently on the counter, tapping his foot rather impatiently as Moriarty sets up his own workstation parallel from Sherlock's parents'. The criminal peers over at Wanda and Timothy, and sets everything in its correct place, locking gazes with Timothy as they say in unison, _"Three, Two, One … **Begin**!"_

Sherlock blinks bemusedly with an amused smirk as his parents instantly weave around each other, putting various things inside their own bowls and putting others in the other. He looks over at Moriarty, who's moving just as fluidly, doing the same things solely by himself. He calls a bit desperately, _"Sherlock, hurry up; we're going to lose at this rate."_

Sherlock gapes slightly, a bit lost, as he manages, "You want to have a baking contest … with my parents?" Moriarty rolls his eyes. "Well, yes, I thought that was obvious." Both of them ignore the slight laughter at the other end of the counter. _"Whoever bakes it the quickest and has the best tasting pie wins."_ Sherlock narrowed his eyebrows and rolls his eyes to the ceiling, leaning backward slightly in exasperation as he shouts. "Wins what?"

Moriarty stops, swiveling jerkily on his heels as he glances up slightly, his hands, already covered in flour, rising in a slightly placating gesture, as if to calm Sherlock before he hears anything he may not like. Moriarty quirks his eyebrows as seriously as he can, saying in a dreadfully grave tone, _"Wins **you**."_

Sherlock blinks once, twice, and Moriarty scoffs, drags him over, saying, _"I need you to work on the filling while I deal with the crust; it requires more experience. Start with the apples and then the sugar, salt, lemon juice, flour, nutmeg and cinnamon. **Careful** with the lemon juice and cinnamon – if you put in too much, it'll make the inside too dry, and I've have to overcompensate with the crust. The measurements are over on your right, next to the egg wash."_

Sherlock raises his eyebrows, more than a little disorientated at the situation. He decides to disregard the surreal competition for what it is and instead focuses on winning instead. "Am I supposed to know what that is?" he asks bluntly, and Moriarty flails at the paintbrush-like tool, stammering, _"It's the – the weird, the – that paintbrush thing!"_ Sherlock chuckles softly at the description, locating the egg wash and peering beside it at the list, running to the fridge and finding his father there already.

Timothy winked, sliding him the bowl of apple slices on his side, and taking the one on Sherlock's side. With a glance, Sherlock smoothly determines his father had left him the more ripe, smoother, and all-in-all softer slices instead of his own. Blinking at the implications, Sherlock narrows his eyes in suspicion and brings the bowl back, already watching Moriarty knead his hands through the dough with rough, convulsive strokes, glancing worriedly back at Wanda, smoothly rolling her own knuckles gently through the dough.

Sherlock sighs, and pushes Moriarty away from the dough, leading him towards the unfinished filling with a soft, "Trust me." Moriarty gives him a sharp warning glance, but concedes, delicately sprinkling the correct amount of brown sugar on top of each apple slice in sight and mixing the condiments of the bowl with a quickened pace.

Sherlock glances over his shoulder and smirks slightly. Just as he had predicted, Timothy had taken over Wanda's job with the dough once he saw Sherlock switch jobs. A small smirk formed on his face as he discreetly wiped his hands on his apron, and began rolling his hands through the dough ruggedly. Sherlock, getting the hint, dusted his own hands with more flour, and slowly pressed his knuckles into the soft, squishy substance, with much more emotion and grace than Moriarty had used. After testing the dough's consistency slightly with a nearby rolling pin, Sherlock wiped his hands on a rag, getting rid of most of the flour before taking Moriarty's shoulder to push him back to shape the crust. Moriarty flinched at Sherlock's touch, jerking back at the hand on his shoulder.

He gave an expression of the most appalled fashion, pinching his shoulder and holding up the fabric slightly, to showcase the damage Sherlock had caused with his over-floured hands on Moriarty's brand-new sweater. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and finished up the filling, placing it into the fridge, meeting his mother with a sharp glance and an abrupt turn in the opposite direction.

Moriarty puts his hands into the dough, and blinks in surprise at its compliance under his fingers. He looks over at Sherlock, surprised, before freezing, laughing slightly. Sherlock halts his work on his own part of the crust as well, giving Moriarty an inquiring look. "You alright?" he asks, and Moriarty smiles, bringing a hand up and slapping Sherlock across the face with it. It impacts with a resounding crack, and Timothy and Wanda halt their efforts as well to look up at Moriarty, shocked.

Moriarty simply laughs, however, as Sherlock straightens with a hand on his cheek, a thin layer of compacted, raw crust sticking to his face. _"You – You put too much flour on your hands, Sherlock! It's too **sticky**!"_ Sherlock glared playfully at him, peeling the food from his cheek and remarking, "Really? I hadn't noticed."

And, with a sly look, Sherlock slaps it directly over Moriarty's laughing mouth, muffling his laughter as the food entered his mouth. Except Sherlock's hands were still covered in sugar, flour, and all of the other toppings, creating a puff of flavor flying into Moriarty's mouth as Sherlock pushed it inside. The criminal grimaced, and munched slowly with heavy trepidation, blinking and chewing with a quicker pace as he hums slightly in appreciation. Sherlock raises an eyebrow when Moriarty swallows.

_"Not bad,"_ he comments, taking another part of the dough and placing more toppings on it as Sherlock says, "Really?" Moriarty nods. "Let me taste it."

Moriarty moves to offer him the part of dough he's prepared, but Sherlock pushes it away, leaning forward suddenly to push their lips together, and Moriarty's eyes widen comically before fluttering comfortably closed. After a moment, Sherlock leans back with an impressed hum, licking his lips. "Huh. Not bad." Wanda and Timothy turn back to their pie with a shared glance.

Moriarty rolls his eyes at Sherlock's antics, flicking a piece of the raw crust onto Sherlock's coat in retaliation. Sherlock brushes it off without a sideways glance, and focuses on cutting four thick holes in the extra crust, creating the top bedding. Moriarty finishes flattening the base crust with the rolling pin, and he places it inside the foil pan they were given, fastening the filling and top bedding together, held together by the filling, and placing it in the oven, setting the temperature at 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Wiping his hands on his pants, Moriarty turned to Sherlock, and said somewhat steadily, _"Now we wait."_ Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and Moriarty rolled his eyes, adding, _"And no, I'm not **nervous**."_

"Hm. You should be," Timothy states from behind them, his wife wrapping her arm around his. "I hate to be immodest, but my wife makes a mean apple pie."

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><p><strong>Random line break because that's all I revised.<strong>

**Hope that was alright, be grateful to hear what you think. Just review, pm, favorite, follow, I'll probably put more up.**

**Have a very nice happy new year,**

**~IsomorphicTARDIS**


	2. Doctor Who 1: Time Energy

**Hm. Not very happy with how this turned out, but I tried to revise it nonetheless. It may get confusing, so bear with me, here!**

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><p>"I'm thinner."<p>

The exclamation had seemingly come out of nowhere in the silence that hung over the residence now, though Amy could definitely pinpoint the tone stemming from the worry of her husband, calling through the door of the restroom in their bedroom in the TARDIS. He emerged not a second later, his arms bent awkwardly by his head to lift his shirt and reveal his stomach, causing the sudden, random image of him as a chicken to sprout into Amy's mind.

She huffed a laugh for a moment, and sent a glance at her husband's midsection, letting her gaze linger for a moment at his now noticeably puckish face before she returned to her rubix cube. "You have," Amy noted. "And you're complaining because … ?"

Rory scoffed, and let go of the lining of his shirt, glancing over at Amy and gesturing towards her, saying weakly, "But look – you've lost weight as well!"

Amy pauses in her puzzle, looking up to stare at her husband with a smirk and waggling eyebrows. "Oh, Rory, have you been _looking?_ I'm _flattered!_"

Chuckling softly, Rory offered both of his hands, which Amy took without preamble, letting her husband drag her upwards until the world became vertical once more. She looked up at her husband with a small smile, and said, "I don't know about you, but it's getting pretty boring, sitting around here. How about we go for an adventure?"

And with that, she left no room for an argument, tossing the rubix cube to Rory's open hands as she swayed out of his grip and strode to the door, glancing back to encourage Rory along.

After a few moments of navigating blindly through the halls and hoping to find the console room, the hallway did eventually gape outwards into the familiar setting, with husband and wife bounding down the steps to greet the Timelord twisting and weaving between controls, presumably piloting the Timeship.

"Doctor!" Amy called, bringing her momentum to a final halt as she dug her heels into the metal underneath her feet, her hair not getting the notion as it swished dramatically in front of her face, causing a reflection of a great mane of orange to bounce off of the console and attract the Doctor's gaze to Amy's face.

"Amy!" the Doctor shouted just as jubilantly, bringing her in for a light hug before twisting to spread his arms out invitingly to Rory, still lingering on the steps and not able to move an inch as the Doctor descended upon him, entrapping him in a large hug and letting go not a moment later. "And Rory! To what do I owe the pleasure of a nightly visit?"

Amy snickered slightly as the Doctor went back to his work on the console, and Rory blushed, preferring to keep out of the Doctor's way as he stood beside Amy.

"Rory's worried about his weight," Amy stated bluntly with a teasing stare at Rory, who smiled affectionately sheepishly back down at her. The Doctor, however, paused slightly in his work, glancing up at the Time rotor before returning to the console with heavier vehemence.

"Oh, is he? That's interesting," he responded somewhat nonchalantly, keeping his voice controlled and steady as he ducked under the rim and pulled at a few wires, giving them a [no wait don't do that] look before continuing on his customary rambling. "Had this friend of mine once, always worried he was gaining weight, tried to tell him he was perfectly fine; he was an Essataxci - humanoid species very, very concerned about fitting in. Mostly because of their odd tendencies to involuntarily camouflage themselves into their environment at random intervals – I'm not kidding, they're actually like chameleons, except more with culture and society as well as physical disguising."

"That's fascinating," Amy interjected when the Doctor paused for a breath, "but Rory's more concerned about losing weight, for some reason." She nudged him affectionately with her elbow, and he rubbed his arm gently, though a small smile was still present on his face.

Meanwhile, the Doctor hadn't answered, supposedly too busy with the controls to offer any sort of response. Finding this slightly peculiar, Amy bent down to face the Doctor, who immediately straightened up and began to slide his fingers along the controls, pressing an ear closer to the console to hear more properly what he was changing. Amy narrowed her eyebrows and circled the rim, dragging Rory along by hand until they were both facing the Doctor.

"Any thoughts, Doctor?" Amy asked evenly, and blinked in surprise as the Doctor responded with a short, "No, not at the moment," and pushed past the couple, peering between two levers and trying to pinpoint which one he should pull. While Rory simply gave Amy a shrug, Amy decided to take real action, sliding back over to the Doctor.

"Oh, I'm sure you could find _something_ to add, couldn't you?" Amy said, and a suddenly visible blush on the Doctor's neck grew immensely, his cheeks turning beet red, his eyes avoiding eye contact, and his mouth stitching shut in a thin line. Amy narrowed her eyes, and put a hand on his forearm, restricting him from moving any more controls and, for all intents and purposes, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "What is it?" she asks in a soft voice, as if calling to a terrified animal.

A moment of tense silence passed, and Rory blinked, then exclaimed, "You know why, then?" When he was met by nothing more than the same pregnant silence, he continued, "Why? Is it some … some Time-travel side effect, or something?"

Amy resisted soft snort and was about to question her husband's syntax when the Doctor beat her to it, his voice small and thick with embarrassment as he attempted to tug his arm out of Amy's grip. She didn't relent.

"Er … no, not exactly," he reiterated, dodging the question as he Amy finally released, allowing him to hop to another control, and put all of his attention to the TARDIS once more. Rory huffed at his behavior, and Amy said in a more interested and worried tone, "Just spit it out, Doctor."

The Doctor ducked his head, hesitating before mumbling something under his breath, and Amy ground her teeth together. She said in a mock-innocently sweet voice, "What was that, Doctor? I couldn't really catch that."

The Doctor looked up at her finally, his eyes meeting hers for a split second before diverting, searching and landing finally on Rory. He said in a small voice, "It's … it's kind of … _me_."

Amy's eyebrows skyrocketed for an unscheduled appointment with her hairline, as did her husband's, and the Doctor's voice finally reverted back to normal as he darted around the console, turning and pushing and pulling and fiddling with various controls as he spoke.

"Time lords – we're not only known for our scientific accomplishments, nor for our civilization. Our biology is also something many species envy, mostly because of regeneration, but also because … well, in simple terms, the space around us is displaced in the sense of time," he said quickly, and, upon seeing the blank expressions on their faces, elaborated, moving forward to gesticulate to help explain.

"It's extremely and absolutely complex science and biology, but basically, Time lord biology is exceptionally flexible compared to other species, so that we are able to adapt to any environment – an evolution that we learned in order to adapt to our scientific activities. See, we were exposed more and more to significant items in the Time stream, such as the Untempered Schism – a hole in Time and Space where the Time Vortex is actually visible and partially tangible, in a wibbly way – and the artron energy from our TARDISes.

"So, our entire anatomic structure was rebuilt to live in that kind of environment, and even sustain a kind of … _energy input_ from it. But, this adaptation can't be contained in _one point_.

"You could compare it to a fixed point, in the way that a fixed point in time can only be at one point, of course, but it is set with a set of parameters in sense of time and space. The fixed point has to happen for an amount of time, and in at least one spot, somewhere in the universe.

"Think along the same lines with this type of energy. Time lords can't contain all of this energy at one point, at one time. So, we sort of … expel it, in the most natural way possible; through the pores in our skin, and, just as equally, through our timelines.

" … we radiate this general time-sense anomaly, bending the time around our general vicinity, and changing what you could describe as, the effects of _Time_, for different people. For example, some Time lords expel weak, nonreactive forces that can cause a person to feel especially nostalgic around them.

"It's different for everybody – I've known one Time lord that couldn't go anywhere near any other Time lord, for he would cause anyone who approached him to age faster then the poor person could use up their own time-energy. He would unintentionally work them through their regenerations just standing next to a person.

"For me, I tend to make things – _people_ – younger, taking their time and adding to my own – I'm technically aging doubly older than normal beings with every living thing that surrounds me. It's why I always say I'm 900 years old; if you never count the years that I've gathered from others, I would be 902. And I can't exactly count the years anymore, since all the time I'm aging little by little, until every other day would be my technical birthday.

"Anyway, since everybody's metabolism is obviously much better in their younger years, and I've been burning my time-energy - _inevitably -_ all of the food you've been consuming hasn't been giving you as much energy or fat as it does when you are your … normal age. You're eating enough to satisfy a stomach that's older than you actually are."

He heaved a giant breath, flicking one more switch in finality, before walking over to the threshold that held the hallways beyond. He stopped abruptly, turned, and dug in his pocket for a moment. "Here we go."

From his pocket, he pulled an apple – a very important apple, with a perfect smiley face cut into it. He glanced at it with a small smile, and tossed it in the air, catching it again as he said, "See?" He showed them the almost glittering white sheen of the inside of the apple – as if it were fresh from the tree. The Doctor tossed it over to Amy, who caught it, and he offered a simple goodnight as he left the room, taking an immediate right through the hallways, to go to his own room.

Amy blinked in bemusement, looking down at the apple in her hands, almost letting it slip between her fingers in her surprise. The white, cut parts that made the comical smiley face were slowly but steadily browning, until the very edges were blackened, the rest an ugly, bruised brown. She gaped at it in amazement, and showed it to Rory, whose eyes widened marginally as they both understood.

They could only stare back at where the Doctor had disappeared, taking the youth of the apple with him, leaving it browning and rotting instead of fresh and healthy.

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><p><strong>Alright, hope you liked. <strong>

**Happy New Year once again, everybody!**

**~IsomorphicTARDIS**


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